So, after my last 6 month checkup, I was told that the tumor on what’s left of my thyroid gland had grown again. Given the family history on both sides, and the fact that cousin Andrea is now being treated for thyroid cancer, I was less than thrilled when the doctor said, offhandedly, “I’m not sure it’s big enough yet to remove now, so let’s wait another 6 months and see what happens.” Well, what happens when you say things like that is that a 6ft Amazon goes into hysterics in your office. So the nice doctor decided that maybe we should do a biopsy, just to be on the safe side.
Next time I’ll take my chances. *halfhearted snicker* The biopsy was scheduled for 8 a.m. yesterday. My parents insisted on coming to the hospital with me, and as usual, were slightly late picking me up. The first words out of my mother’s mouth were “Are you sure you want to wear that shirt? I see a stain on it.” Way to focus on what’s important, Mom. (The shirt was clean, BTW. It was a bleach spot on the hem that old eagle eyes spotted.) Then we had to go back, because I forgot my paperwork (which it turned out the hospital didn’t need) and the little black cat took off out the door. I got back in the car and said “Let’s go” at which point both parents began questioning my decision to leave the little brat out. I pointed out that I didn’t have the time or inclination to chase her around the yard in the hopes of catching her and that she’s done this before and will be fine for the few hours I’m gone.
Did I mention that I’m doing this on about an hour of sleep? So yeah, I really needed to be second-guessed on everything that I said/did.
Mom dropped us off at the door- Dad spent so long getting out of the car that I walked off and left him to catch up. I was processed within 10 minutes of arrival and we were moved to the waiting area. For an hour. (be there at 8 a.m. my ass) They called me back and this is where the fun starts.
The tech put me on a hard gurney to do another ultrasound so the doctor doing the biopsy would know exactly where to jab me with the needle. I had to lie flat on my back on this thing for almost 45 minutes, so my (bad) back was screaming at me by the time we were done. 10 minutes later, the doctor wanders in, describes the process to me, and we begin. First the lidocaine shot to numb my throat, which felt like they were injecting liquid fire. It kicked in almost immediately, and I’m here to tell you, THAT is a very unsettling feeling. Then came the jabs for the biopsy. He had to take three sets of samples, and while I didn’t feel pain, I DID feel the needle moving around like he was Roto-Rooter cleaning a drain.
We waited about 10 minutes for pathology to verify that the samples were workable- thankfully they were- and I was cleaned up, allowed to dress and given an ice pack to hold against my throat to help prevent swelling. They told me to call my doctor in 3-4 days to hear the results.
Mom decided we needed to go to breakfast after all of this. I was ok with that, but she REALLY wanted to go to a restaurant where we’ve had a history of crappy service. Once again, it took Dad 10 minutes to get out of the damn car. (he is NOT that old & feeble. It’s some sort of passive-aggressive thing he does just to piss me off. It succeeds admirably) We would have been seated immediately had he not poked around, but 3 other families came in and were seated, and then we got to stand there for 10 minutes until the host came back. Note, the place was mostly empty.
First they seated us at a table that was filthy. I pointed out the dirt on the table and the host said he’d go get a towel to clean it. Mom said, no, something just dropped from the ceiling onto her face, and we would prefer to be moved to another table. (we should have just left then) He moved us to a booth across the room, and we were soundly ignored by the wait staff until one of them heard us discussing leaving and going to Panera instead. THEN they rushed to take our order. The girl tried to argue with me about my order- I wanted one of the breakfast specials without eggs. She said, “oh, I’ll just put it in as an a-la-carte order” meaning they would charge me per item for the French toast, juice, and bacon, and would cost twice as much as the order the WAY I FREAKING ASKED FOR IT. I told her she had better think again. Dad sat there and dithered about his order until Mom & I both gave him the death glare.
10 minutes later, we got our drinks.
20 minutes after that, after they heard us again contemplating leaving, we got our food. The bacon was cold, but tasty. The French toast was hot, but had to be cut with a knife. Seriously? How do you make French Toast so hard that you need a knife to cut it? The bill, which was the only thing to arrive promptly, was correct at the end, so apparently our little server took my snarl to heart.
We finally got out of there and my parents took me home. The little black snot was ready to go in when we got there. I had to tell my mother three times to stay where she was (she insisted on walking me to the door) so that she didn’t spook the cat and I could get her into the house. I went to bed and slept most of the rest of the day.
Oh, and my throat? Last night, my neck was swollen out to the point that I looked like a boa constrictor that was in the process of swallowing a possum. Today, the swelling is mostly gone, but I have a Technicolor bruise across my neck that looks like someone throttled me. Why yes, I have gotten some interesting looks from officers today. I’ve convinced most of them that I am NOT a domestic violence victim, but I think I’m going to start pointing at my coworkers and whispering “she did it” just to see what happens. Heh.
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